And as he savored the feel of it, neither of them breathed.
Their eyes locked, green against the darkest, hottest black. Not a word was spoken, but as Angus leaned forward, slowly closing the distance between them, they both knew what was going to happen.
He was going to kiss her.
And she wasn't going to stop him.
Five
His lips brushed against hers slowly, in the barest of touches. If he'd crushed her against him or ground his mouth onto hers, she might have pulled away, but this feather-light caress captured her soul.
Her skin prickled with awareness, and she suddenly felt… different, as if this body she'd possessed for twenty-four years were no longer her own. Her skin felt too tight, and her heart felt too hungry, and her hands… oh, how her hands ached for the touch of his skin.
He'd be warm, she knew, and sculpted. His were not the muscles of a sedentary man. He could crush her with one blow of his fist… and somehow that knowledge was thrilling… probably because he was holding her now with such gentle reverence.
She pulled away for a moment, so that she could see his eyes. They burned with a need that was unfamiliar, and yet she knew exactly what he wanted.
"Angus," she whispered, lifting her hand to rub the rough skin of his cheek. His dark beard was coming in, thick and coarse and entirely unlike her brother's whiskers on the few occasions she'd seen him unshaven.
He covered her hand with his, then turned his face into her palm, pressing a kiss against her skin. She watched his eyes over the tips of her fingers. They never left hers, and they were asking a silent question, and waiting for her answer.
"How did this happen?" she whispered. "I've never… I never even wanted-"
"But you do now," he whispered. "You want me now."
She nodded, shocked by her admission, yet unable to lie to him. There was something about the way he was looking at her, the way his eyes swept over her as if he could see all the way to the very center of her heart. The moment was ter-rifyingly perfect, and she knew that lies had no place between them. Not in that room, not on that night.
She moistened her lips. "I can't…"
Angus touched his finger to her mouth. "Can't you?"
That brought forth a wobbly smile. His teasing tone melted her resistance, and she felt herself swaying toward him, leaning into his strength. More than anything, she wanted to throw aside all of her principles, every last ideal and moral to which she'd held true. She could forget who she was, and what she'd always held dear, and lie with this man. She could stop being Margaret Pennypacker, sister and guardian of Edward and Alicia Pennypacker, daughter of the departed Edmund and Katherine Pennypacker. She could stop being the woman who brought food to the poor, attended church every Sunday, and planted her garden every spring in neat and tidy rows.
She could stop being all of that, and finally be a woman.
It was so tempting.
Angus smoothed one of his callused fingers across her furrowed brow. "You look so serious," he murmured, leaning forward to brush his lips to her forehead. "I want to kiss away these lines, brush away these worries."
"Angus," she said quickly, letting her words tumble out before she lost her ability to reason, "there are things I can't do. Things I want to do, or I think I want to do. I'm not sure, because I've never done, but I can't- Why are you smiling?"
"Was I?"
He knew he was, the bounder.
He shrugged helplessly. "It's only that I've never seen anyone quite so becomingly befuddled as you, Margaret Pennypacker."
She opened her mouth to protest, since she wasn't sure if his words were complimentary, but he placed his finger over her lips.
"Ah, ah, ah," he said. "Hush now, and listen to me. I'm going to kiss you, and that's all."
Her heart soared and fell in a single moment. "Just a kiss?"
"Between us, it will never be just a kiss."
His words sent a shiver through her veins, and she lifted her head, offering her lips to him.
Angus drew in a hoarse breath, staring at her mouth as if it held all the temptations of hell-and all the bliss of heaven. He kissed her again, but this time he held nothing back. His lips took hers in a hungry, possessive dance of desire and need.
She gasped, and he savored her breath, inhaling its warm, sweet essence, as if that might somehow enable her to touch him from the inside out.
He knew he ought to go slowly with her, and much as his body was crying with need, he knew that he would end this night unfulfilled, but he could not deny himself the pleasure of feeling her small body beneath his, and so he lowered her down onto the bed, never once taking his mouth off hers.
If he was just going to kiss her, if that was all he could do, then he was damned if this kiss didn't last the whole night through.
"Oh, Margaret," he moaned, letting his hands roam down the side of her, past her waist, over her hip, until he cupped the smoothly rounded curve of her buttocks. "My sweet Mar-"
He broke off and lifted his head, flashing her a boyishly lopsided grin. "Can I call you Meggie? Margaret's a bloody mouthful."
She stared up at him, breathing hard, unable to speak.
"Margaret," he continued, trailing his fingers along the edge of her cheek, "is just the sort of woman a man wants by his side. But Meggie… now, that's a woman a man wants underneath."
It took her an eighth of a second to say, "You can call me Meggie."
His lips found her ear, as his arms snaked around her. "Welcome to my embrace, Meggie."
She sighed, and the movement sank her deeper into the mattress, and she gave herself up to the moment, to the flickering candle and the sweet scent of the cranachan, and to the strong and powerful man who was covering her body with his.
His lips moved to her neck, whispering along the lines that led down to the crook of her shoulder. He kissed the skin there, so pale against the black wool of his coat. He didn't know how he'd ever wear that garment again, now that it had spent an entire evening brushing against her bare skin. It would smell like her for days, and then, after the scent drifted away, the memory of this moment would still be enough to set his body on fire.
His nimble fingers undid just enough buttons to reveal the barest hint of her cleavage. It was nothing more than a shadow, really, a vague darkening that hinted at the wonders below, but even that was enough to send fire through his veins, tightening a body that he had thought couldn't possibly get any harder.
Two more buttons found their way free, and Angus trailed his mouth down along each new inch of bared skin, whispering the whole time, "It's still a kiss. Just a kiss."
"Just a kiss," Margaret echoed, her voice strange and breathy.
"Just a kiss," he agreed, slipping yet another button through its loophole so that he could fully kiss the deep hollow between her breasts. "I'm still kissing you."
"Yes," she moaned. "Oh, yes. Keep kissing me."
He spread open his coat, baring her small, yet gently rounded breasts. He sucked in his breath. "Good Christ, Meggie, this coat never looked half so good on me."
Margaret stiffened slightly under the intense heat of his gaze. He was staring at her as if she were some strange and wondrous creature, as if she possessed something he'd never seen before. If he touched her, caressed her, or even kissed her, she could melt right back into his embrace and lose herself in the passion of the moment. But with him just staring at her-she was made uncomfortably aware that she was doing something she'd never even dreamed of doing.
She'd known this man only a few short hours, and yet-
Her breath catching, she reached up to cover herself. "What have I done?" she whispered.